


Melitodes

by Miniatures



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Porn, Blow Jobs, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, Gabriel gives a false name, Light Angst, Like so much flirting, M/M, One Night Stands, Star-crossed, before the alligator guy, set in the middle of Tall Tales
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 22:47:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3428348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miniatures/pseuds/Miniatures
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam needs a break, and he thinks the Crawford Hall janitor can give him one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Melitodes

A loud _clack_ echoed around him, and then the auditorium bloomed before Sam’s eyes, illuminated by dozens of overhead and stage lights. It looked like a theatre more than a lecture hall, though the projector by the door and the lectern on the stage betrayed its multipurpose use.

The janitor came swaggering to his side, thumbs tucked into his belt. “Welcome to my domain.” He smirked and nodded towards the rows of seats. “Pick a parking spot, kiddo, I’ll be right back with those drinks.”

Sam returned the smile, walked down the aisle and selected a completely arbitrary pair of grey pleather foldout seats. He settled in, teasing his lip between his teeth as he found the most comfortable position in which to tuck his legs. The place had that college _smell_ to it—mold and old plastic wreathed in the chemical tang of a citrus cleaning product. He was reminded of his days at Stanford, and allowed himself a moment to feel wistful. 

When that passed, his mouth resumed its fidgeting and his fingers took up tapping against his thigh. He was being stupid. He was being stupid and he didn’t _do_ this, he wasn’t hardwired for this sort of thing. This was always Dean’s way

( _Dean who had stolen his laptop, who was denying, denying, denying and keeping that smug big-brother cool until Sam couldn’t take it, until Sam needed air_ )

and God knew that Sam couldn’t keep pace with him on that front. But the janitor had a way about him. Hunting coiled Sam tight, cautious and tense, but something about the catch of gold in the shorter man’s eyes made him go lax. And he needed that tonight.

So he’d stormed out of the motel and back to campus, back to Crawford Hall where he’d found the janitor still working the floors. Asked him if he wanted to grab a drink with Sam and was taken up on the offer. _“No bars tonight, Sasquatch, but I’ve got some tasty shit stashed in the auditorium if you’re down for a picnic.”_

Sam had wanted a bar because there was no pressure at a bar. There was music and sleepy lights and an easy escape route if it turned out that golden eyes and corny jokes were the janitor’s only selling points. But he’d agreed nonetheless.

Because he was stupid.

“And here we go.” The janitor flopped into the seat next to Sam, grunting under the weight of a medium sized red cooler. He flipped the lid, drew out a drink and angled the box towards Sam. “Your libation, monsieur?”

“Why thank you,” Sam said, affecting a phlegmy voice as he inspected the contents of the cooler.

The janitor was already taking his first sip of what appeared to be a canned cocktail, though Sam didn’t recognize the name or brand.

“What’s a… uh, what’s a Melitodes Sugarqueen?” 

“Mm!” the janitor swallowed and grinned. “Import. Can’t get ‘em anywhere but this one, uh, valley in Greece. I know a guy.” He lifted the drink. “Wanna try?”

Sam figured he should hesitate. A part of him twinged _caution,_ the part that’d kept him alive the past nearly two years, but his hand still curled around the slender can. He had nothing to fear, for once. He was alone, yes, but he was alone with a _civilian_ , and a small, unassuming civilian to boot—any danger that arose would be entirely mundane.

He swallowed a gulp of the Sugarqueen cocktail. It burst on his tongue, a whirl of sweet and sour with a sharp kick. By all rights he should’ve hated it—being raised on whisky and beer had fostered in him a low tolerance for sweet drinks—but there was something about it… Sam couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was damn delicious.

 _Pomegranate,_ he realized belatedly, _it tastes like honey and pomegranates._

He dragged his tongue over his lips to catch the drops, and felt the janitor’s eyes on him. Sam turned to meet his gaze, watched his overbitten mouth spread into a wry smile.

Sam blinked and cursed the heat he felt rising in his cheeks. “Wow, uh, I’ll take one of those.”

“You got it.” The shorter man reached out to take his own drink back, letting his fingers brush across Sam’s knuckles as he did so. Something warm caught in Sam’s chest and he smiled back.

_Not good. Too close. Don’t forget that you can’t stay._

Damn that cautious part of him, anyway.

“Um, on second thought…” Sam reached into the cooler and grabbed a beer. “I’ll, uh, I’ll just drink this instead.”

The janitor shrugged, set the cooler on the ground and kicked it towards the aisle. “Suit yourself, kiddo. Cheers.”

Sam took a long sip of his beer, lowered the can with a frown. “So, uh. What do I call you?”

“Oh! Did we not do that?” The janitor chuckled. “Call me Dante.”

“Like the _Inferno_ guy?”

Dante nodded, smirking. “Like the _Inferno_ guy. And yourself, Sasquatch?”

“Well, if you’ve already picked something out…” Sam’s mouth twitched. “It’s Sam.”

“Ah, _Sam_ squatch, then. See, I can work with that.” 

Dante produced a bag of candy bars from somewhere on his person—Sam didn’t see where—and the two of them spent the evening eating and nursing their drinks between chatter. Sam was laughing louder and longer than he had in a very long time. Dante was all warmth and wire, and his smile tugged at parts of Sam that he’d thought lost to darker things.

Sam told stories of Stanford—taking care not to mention Jess, because that was too much for tonight—and childhood games he’d played with Dean. Dante regaled him with tales of his own campus, of all the people he’d known, the stories coming to vibrant life through his animated retellings. At one point he actually got up and _performed_ , playing several parts at once as he used the seats in front of them as a makeshift stage. Sam applauded, and the applause was only partly sarcastic.  

The hours melted away, as hours are wont to do. They swallowed their last respective drops and disposed of the last candy wrapper. Sam sighed, leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.

“I don’t wanna go back,” he moaned—mostly jokingly, but also not.

“Tonight, or in general?”

Sam lifted his head a little, opened one eye and smiled. “Both?”

Dante snorted. “Both’s good. Hang on, I’ll go saddle up my white horse and then I can take you away from all of this.”

“Would you? The electrician game’s no life for the likes of me.”

“Yeah, you’re too pretty. What if you get caught in a fire and burn? I’d never forgive myself.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying you only like me for my looks? Ow.”

Dante patted his thigh, smile spreading wide. “Aw, baby, don’t be like that. You know I love your mind.”

Sam laughed, and the janitor joined him, very pointedly not moving his hand from Sam’s thigh. His hand was warm, like the rest of him—his thumb grazed slow over denim, sending sleepy waves of slow pleasure across Sam’s skin.

 _I could stay like this forever,_ Sam found himself thinking, but swallowed the words before he did something ridiculous like say them out loud. Even if he weren’t a Winchester, even if this had a chance of blooming into something real, that would have been exceptionally stupid.

But he _was_ a Winchester, this _couldn’t_ be real, and he couldn’t let himself enjoy it too much longer.

He cleared his throat and got to his feet, feeling Dante’s hand slide away with a twinge of— _no, no twinge, this is fine, it has to be fine—_ regret. “I don’t wanna go,” he said, “but my brother’s gonna be an asshole about it tomorrow if I don’t.”

“Got an early gig or something?” Sam absolutely did not see the disappointment flickering in Dante’s eyes.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Damn family business. Never can get out of it, can ya?”

Sam let out a bitter laugh. “You don’t know the half of it.”

The janitor smiled, and the smile was sad. “Oooh, you might be surprised.”

Sam took a deep breath. Swallowed hard and made his choice. “Well,” he said, “maybe I can stay a bit longer.”

He ducked down, curled his fingers in the collar of Dante’s shirt and pulled him into a kiss.

Dante let out a startled noise, stiffening a moment before bracing his palms against Sam’s chest and pushing off.

“Fuck,” Sam panted, “I’m sorry, I thought—”

“Oh, and you weren’t wrong.” Dante raised a hand to his mouth, fingers brushing over that soft upper lip— _and oh, how good he tastes._ “I just…” He looked almost pained as he met Sam’s eye again. Let out a low, shuddering exhale, and on the exhale, “Aw, fuck it.”

Then his mouth was on Sam’s again, hot and wet and oh so inviting. One hand tightened in Sam’s hair, the other clutched at the back of his jacket, and in one quick movement— _fuck, he’s strong_ —he managed to spin Sam around to back up against the seats.

Sam grunted, sliding down and into one of the chairs. Dante settled into his lap, both hands sliding down to his neck and shoulders as his tongue darted into Sam’s mouth. Sam tangled a hand in Dante’s chestnut curls and pulled his head back, exposing the white line of his throat. Dante moaned, and Sam took that as an invitation, diving forward to attack the shorter man’s neck.

He bit and sucked and pulled bruises to the surface of that smooth flesh, relishing in the noises he was drawing from the janitor’s mouth.

“Fuck,” Dante hissed, “oh, _fuck_ …”

He bucked his hips into Sam’s, and Sam groaned as he felt the hot press of Dante’s erection against his own. The janitor ground down again, and then again, finding a quick rhythm, fisting his hands in Sam’s jacket collar and letting his head fall into the crook of Sam’s neck. Sam ran his fingers down Dante’s sides, tugged the hem of his shirt out from where it was tucked into his pants and slipped his hands underneath, splaying them across the janitor’s bare skin.

“God, Dante,” Sam groaned.

Dante lifted his head to nibble at Sam’s ear. “Gabriel, call me Gabriel,” he panted.

“What?”

“Like it better… ‘s my middle— _uhn_ , my middle name. Call me Gabriel.” He bit down hard on Sam’s earlobe.

Sam gasped and arched his back. “Fuck, _Gabriel._ ”

Dante moaned and gave a particularly rough, dirty roll of his hips. And for a stretched, endless moment all was heat and skin on skin, damp mouth and damp pants and the aching, impossible pleasure curling in Sam’s belly. 

It had been too long, really. Too long and dear God, but Dante knew what he was doing. So Sam only felt slightly guilty when all it took was the sudden sinking of Dante’s teeth into the meat of his shoulder to send him over the edge—lightning cracked him open and he was coming on a low, gasping moan, digging his fingers into Dante’s lovehandles and spilling in his pants for the first time since he was seventeen.

Teeth became tongue became murmurs of encouragement against his skin as Dante nosed his way up Sam’s throat. He was running his hands along Sam’s sides, soothing him through jerky aftershocks until Sam was loose and breathing even.

They exhaled together, and Dante wriggled a little in Sam’s lap. “Mmm… don’t mind me, Sammy, just gimme a—”

“Wait.” Sam gave Dante a gentle push back and onto his feet. “Sit there,” he said, jabbing a thumb at the seat next to him.

Dante nodded and did as he was told, eyes trained on Sam’s face. When he was settled, Sam slipped out of his own seat and turned so he was kneeling in front of Dante. He placed his hands on the janitor’s knees and spread his legs, reaching forward to tackle the buckle of his belt.

In a flash the belt was tossed aside, Dante’s pants undone and his cock free, flushed and wet with precome. Sam was upright, nearly eye level with the janitor despite the fact that he was on his knees. He braced himself with his hands on Dante’s thighs, leaned in and kissed him in a lazy slide of lips and tongue. Ran his hands up the other man’s thighs until his thumbs were rubbing slow circles in the tender dips of flesh inches shy of his cock.

Dante moaned into the kiss, tried to drive his hips up. Sam kept him pinned.

“Ohh, no,” he murmured, pulling out of the kiss to mouth at Dante’s jaw. “Keep still, mm?”

Sam pulled away completely and began to shift his position. Dante whined. “Hell, Sammy, you’re killing me here, just—”

His words devolved into a choked groan as Sam swallowed him down.

Sam had missed blowjobs. Missed the weight and warmth of a cock on his tongue, the bitter slick of precome. He loved being able to give someone this, the satisfaction of watching them fall apart at his touch.

And oh, was Dante falling apart.

His head had fallen back somewhere between “just” and now, and his hands were whiteknuckled fists on the arms of the auditorium seat.

Sam dragged his tongue along his length as he began to bob his head. Stopped to tease his slit and savored the shaky moan that earned him.

“Sam…” Dante breathed. He lifted his head and met Sam’s gaze, mouth red and parted and golden eyes heavy. One hand uncoiled and he reached forward, brushing Sam’s hair away from his forehead and tightening, tugging. “So fucking— _uhn—_ so gorgeous with your mouth on my cock…”

Sam moaned around his mouthful and Dante whimpered.

They didn’t break eye contact again. Dante’s hand followed Sam’s head as he continued to work his cock, and Sam found himself drowning in heavy heat, exquisite pain, and lustblown amber.

Soon enough, however, Dante’s thighs began to tremble and before he could so much as squeak a warning he was arching off the seat and coming hard down Sam’s throat.

Sam swallowed and hummed, gently rubbing Dante’s thighs to ease him along. After a moment the shorter man collapsed back into the seat, boneless and smiling soft. Sam pulled off, slid up to wrap his arms around Dante’s body and nuzzle his throat. “God, you’re amazing.”

“ _I’m_ amazing?” Dante leaned into his touch like a cat. “Mmm, Sammy, you should suck yourself off sometime, see how fucking good you are…”

Sam grinned. “Pretty sure that’s impossible.”

“Eh. You’re tall, put a little rubber in your bones and you can make it work.”

“Right, ‘cause I can do that.”

Dante chuckled, stretched, ran his fingers through Sam’s hair. Sam closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment to pretend that this could last.

They stayed like that for what felt like forever, for what felt like a second, before Dante started to squirm. “Okay, get off, Samsquatch,” he said, not unkindly. “We’ve both got shit to do tomorrow.”

 _Too much,_ Sam thought as he got to his feet. _Too much to do, and not enough time._

Dante tucked away his cock, and Sam wrapped a jacket around his waist to hide the dark stain in the front of his jeans. When they’d managed to make themselves reasonably presentable, Sam took a step back and tried not to meet Dante’s eyes. Didn’t think he’d survive it.

“So I’ll… uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll see you later?”

Dante nodded. “I’ll be around. Take care of yourself, eh, kiddo?”

Sam’s lips twitched. _Right._ “Do my best. See you, Gabriel.”

The janitor’s eyes widened, and dammit but Sam _had_ to meet them now. “What?”

“You, uh…” Sam shrugged, “you said you liked that better, right? Being called by your middle name.”

“Well, yeah. But like… during _sex._ ”

Sam laughed. “Close enough, right?”

The janitor gave a fond smile. “Idiot.”

They kissed goodbye, and Sam went back to the motel with the taste of honey and pomegranate on his tongue.  

**Author's Note:**

> … and then Dean STABS GABRIEL IN THE CHEST and Sam thinks he's dead for a year. 
> 
> I have an unhealthy obsession with Tall Tales and with the headcanon that Sam and the janitor totally did it at some point. So this HAD to happen, really. 
> 
> For those wondering - "Melitodes" is Greek and means something like "sweet as honey". It is also a name/title of Persephone, Hades' wife, Queen of the Underworld, and the chick what ate Hades' pomegranate seeds in that one myth that everybody likes. So YAY Greek mythology references! 
> 
> Also, the whole Dante Gabriel thing is a reference to Victorian poet & painter Dante Gabriel Rossetti, who is awesome and y'all should check out his stuff. (Heh, now imagine the look on Sam's face when he finds out who the Trickster really is in this 'verse - "call me Gabriel" motherfucker are you KIDDING ME?)


End file.
